


I Came As a Rat

by articulatez



Series: The Book of Love (Kinktober 2019) [5]
Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Drug Use, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Frottage, Half-Sibling Incest, Mildly Dubious Consent, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 17:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articulatez/pseuds/articulatez
Summary: Nothing is ever easy for the Largos. Amber finds a distraction from her paperwork, Luigi finds an outlet.





	I Came As a Rat

“You're sloppy, sister,” Luigi snapped. “You're supposed to be CEO, not C-E-blow-everyone.”

Amber thumbed her nostril and sniffed. “This is the good shit,” she said, licking the residue off the edge of her Black Diamond card.

That was the problem. She had a mountain of paperwork to get through and the crotch goblin was procrastinating by losing her mind. He lifted her head as it drooped and slapped her cheek.

“Knock it off.” He slapped her again and her growl had less bite than usual, in that she didn't bite him.

Her blue eyes were reduced to a slim ring by dilated pupils. Luigi grabbed her blonde wig and snatched it from her scalp. Underneath her hair was like his, short and dark and slicked down.

“What's the matter, sourpussy? That's what this is about, you're hard up?”

She laughed and he snapped at his simpering brother on the red leather sofa, “Pavi, fuckin' vacate, you rancid excrescence.”

Pavi left with a giggle and a wave, though not before pulling a packet of condoms out of his pocket and tossing them at his siblings. Luigi flinched.

Amber looked up at him and ran her tongue over her teeth, her lips. “Maybe Pavi has a point,” she crooned, and cupped his groin. He looked away. “Don't tell me you ain't thought about it. About me.”

She was high. She was his boss. She was a slut. He watched her out of the corner of his vision, her greased brown hair, her face and tits that had been cut every six ways to Sunday, the way she looked a little like him and a little like Pop and a lot like her dead slut mother. Neither of them moved, him warming in her palm as he thought: fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Come on, Amber, fill out the invoices,” he said, picking up a pen and thrusting it under her nose. His voice shook: “Please.”

“Mm... If you aren't hard up for a hard fuck, turns out I am.” She smirked and used her free hand to hold his wrist where it was in front of her, and slowly ran her tongue along his fingers.

He hissed and stepped back, amused at her disappointed 'aw!'

“If I give you what you're asking for, you gotta work after. I mean it. You want to be in charge of GeneCo, whatever, it looks good. But you gotta put in the hours.”

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let's go to your room, the paparazzi rats will never think to take pictures through your windows. Seeing as you don't bring babes here.”

He grumbled, “Not 'til now” and in case there were lookie loos or Genterns with loose lips they didn't touch and took separate hallways and elevators to get to his bedroom, the most tasteful place in the estate. Original hardwood floors, teal and cream wallpaper, restored Victorian furniture with plush raspberry upholstery, a four-poster king bed with Pima cotton sheets. The pièce de résistance, however, was his rigging and equipment.

Amber was wrong. She wasn't the first girl he'd brought to his room. She was the first one who would walk out unharmed. The youngest Largo stood in the center of the floor without him even having to ask, like she knew, looking placidly around. Her blue dress with the black harness on her breasts and stomach fluttered in the thrumming air conditioning.

She looked at a loss. She said, her voice smooth, “So you gonna fuck me?”

“And risk putting a baby in you? I don't think so.” He lowered a switch on the wall and a beam in the tall ceiling lowered, sporting leather cuffs. “Doesn't mean we won't both get off.”

He strapped her in with her watching, wide-eyed and confused and stripped of her venom. Caught off guard that he didn't want her snatch, that he didn't want to consume her like every other man. The cuffs were tight on her wrist, hopefully she'd lose circulation and end up blue. He raised the switch enough to where she dangled from the floor. Her high heels fell off her feet with a clatter. Her helplessness bothered him. It excited him.

“Pop should've left it all to me,” he snapped. “Look at you. You didn't even put up a fight. How did you know I wouldn't gut you and then fuck the hole?”

She lolled her head like she was already gone and said, “One of us has to love the family, sisterfucker. I... don't think you'd hurt me.”

“I wouldn't.”

It was as close to saying 'I love you' as either of them were likely to get. He moved behind her, out of sight, and silently retrieved a fairy godmother's – no, Shilo's godmother's – magic wand from his bedside drawer. The tap of his Italian shoes on the wooden floor were her only warning as he strode behind her, grabbed her by the shoulder. He'd been hard since she'd grabbed him in her office, and he let her feel the effect she had on him with his hips flush to her.

She was quiet and he stopped. “Hey, don't be a cold fish,” he said.

“You got me tied up like fresh catch,” she snorted. “How do you want me to feel?”

He unzipped his pants, let it all hang out, rubbed up on her like some pervert on the street, like some stringy-haired cretin she would let up her ass for the glow, and moved the silicone head of the wand under her dress, touched it to her cunt, and laughed, “I want you to feel good.” He switched it on, listened to her hum and mewl, and gave her less than a minute to adjust to the vibrator before dialing it up to power tool levels.

Amber screamed and thrashed, kicking her legs, ankles to her thighs. He caught one of her calves and held her in place with his left hand, his right holding the vibrator firmly so she had to feel it, feel everything.

“Daddy!” she shrieked, and that would've ruined it for him if he weren't coming by then, spurting on the fabric covering her ass with a loud grunt, and then she was howling at him that he was going to pay the bill for the laundromat.

He didn't relent, stepped back to watch his spunk drip onto her thighs. If she got his cum on the floor he'd make her cum until she fainted, and maybe then he'd forgive her. Not just for the floor and the new guilt roasting in him; she had won. The company, the charisma, the talons she'd sunk into him when he was meant to be the hardass. His shoulders slumped as she came again, again, “Yes, Daddy!” and he couldn't find it in himself to hate her for it. Not her fault that they were broken.

It was all fucked. He was fucked.

“Never stop,” she pleaded without breath or bone. “Never stop, Luigi...”


End file.
